Hilda could clearly smell the pantry at the end of the corridor. There won’t be any treasure there (unless someone was stupid enough to get killed by a falling sack of flour) but there will be food. With her recent string of disappointments, Hilda really craved something sweet.

As she neared the pantry, Hilda noticed an unusual door to her left. It was oval and surrounded by leather, as if designed to keep liquid from pouring into the corridor. An aquatic encounter perhaps? You opened the door and a shark spilled on you? Maybe a giant octopus like in Elven porn which Hilda totally never read because she was a paladin and paladins didn’t even know such things existed! Or--

Hilda sighed. She’d probably just encounter some scraps the damn wizard left her. That asshole. Still: dungeoneering wasn’t just about gaining levels and treasure. It was about seeing cool stuff and then bragging about it to the people who never left home. Dungeneering was like going on a holiday, except everything tried to kill you and ghouls tried to have sex with you. Oh, and you made money instead of spending money. That was the big plus.

Hilda made a mental note to return to the oval door and proceeded following the smell of tasty things. Now, a pantry was a chamber, so there were likely to be monsters there. However, since it was on the wizard’s path of destruction, likely the only danger these monsters would pose would be of a culinary nature.

Thankfully, Hilda was a gourman and open to experimentation. Why, on her last vacation to Kwakwa, she’d eaten a dish made from an aberration summoned from the Far Realm by a wizard-chef in a restaurant specializing in magical foods. It tasted nice. Kinda cyclopean, with a hint of the eldritch.

The entrance to the pantry was wide and garish with a guardpost that doubled (and tripled and quadrupled) as a toilet. It probably wasn’t manned since the time dwarfs happily skipped on the moon. There was a soggy magazine on the floor. Hilda dared not even sniff at it.

The pantry itself was a large, bright room filled with rows upon rows of conserved goods suitable for humanoid and monster consumption. Hilda noticed a huge spider in the middle of the pantry and raised her shield. She then noticed dozens of holes that went all the way through the archanid’s carcass and lowered her shield.

Hilda knew that spell. It was called “micrometeor shower.” Her dad could cast it. According to her uncle, Dad once shredded an entire troop of goblin wolf-riders with a single casting. Seemed like a bit of an overkill to use a fifth level spell to destroy a single spider, but Hilda guessed some people didn’t have to count their spell slots.

And speaking of slots: an andrognyously beautiful creature with a long tail and horns like a ram was digging through the fruit preserves section, throwing jars to the floor while muttering softly in some unknown language. Hilda felt herself flush with anger. She could kinda understand plundering low level rooms, but spoiling perfectly good food was just mean. Food is great! Everybody loves food!

She was about to shout at the creature, when she realized that it was probably much stronger than she was. A paladin would die for many things but-- actually no. Hilda wanted to live for eight hundred years and collect colorful shiny bugs and have a very nice collection of translucent curtains. So, instead of letting this asshole know that it was an asshole, she coughed and said, “good afternoon” in the common tongue.

It turned and looked at her with eyes that were more serpentine than caprine. It undulated like it was burrowing through the air as it studied her with eyes devoid of expression. “I am--”

“Ah!” Hilda shrieked as she noticed a dead orc behind a box of canned olives. He looked like he’d strangled himself while laughing hysterically. His axe lay on the floor, unbloodied.

“I am,” the creature tried again, “the reformed fallen angel vampire warlock werewolf, Lord--”

Hilda rolled her eyes and groaned. She instantly regretted her poor manners. Adventurers weren’t supposed to kill each other, but who was going to complain: the dead orc or some spilled jam?

Luckily, the creature didn’t seem upset at the second interruption. Not that Hilda could read its expression. It looked like someone spilled a rainbow on a human skull and then attached horns to it. “Pray tell, how come you don’t have a beard?” it said in posh Common.

Hilda unconsciously felt her face, as if making sure she didn’t grow a beard since she last looked in a mirror. “Um… I’m a woman?” She said hesitantly.

“I’d never have guessed,” the thing sang. “I’d have expected such minimizing attitude from a human male. Do you realize the racist microagression you’ve employed against me?”

Racist? I don’t even know what race you are… Hilda had no idea what most of these words meant. However, she felt confident enough to voice her protest.

“Listen,” she said in what she hoped was a reasonable tone. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but it’s really not okay for you to kill low level monsters. You don’t gain anything from it and you just ruin it for everyone else. This treasure is peanuts for you, but could be life-changing for me. What’s done is done though, so, um, bon appetit?”

The creature smiled, or, at least it exposed its teeth. It had too many of them and they were too sharp. “Check your privilege before telling me where I can or can’t go. What you’re doing right now is called harassment. Many adventurers don’t have the privilege of choosing where they go.”

“I’m sorry?” Hilda said, not sure what she was apologizing for, just knowing that her interlocutor was far stronger than she was. “I was just minding my own business, looking for some chocolate--”

The pretty ram thing took a step in her direction. “Do you know how many people don’t have a business and can’t afford chocolate because of your system of oppression?”

Hilda tilted her head like Medvak did whenever she started talking about theology. She had no idea how to answer this accusation. Who was she supposed to oppress? She had no underlings and only a single follower that was a borderline stalker. Well, more like a stalker that sometimes followed her… Didn’t she come from a race that was only recently nearly hunted to extinction?

The creature huffed and arcane energy danced at the tips of its fingers. “That’s a pretty sword. Did your daddy buy it for you?”

Hilda swallowed, not sure what the creature was getting at. “Um, No? No one bought it for me, I won it in a fight against an ogre.”

The thing went on studying her, tilting its head from side to side as if trying to look through moving curtains. “Why don’t you let somebody else talk and listen for a change… assbag?”

Its long and graceful fingers moved as if it was playing on an invisible piano.

“You’re right,” Hilda said, snatching a can of olives in one hand and a can of marmalade in the other as she backed away. “I’m sorry I offended you. I’ll be going now.”

“And now you use the wrong pronoun on purpose,” the thing’s eyes narrowed, but at the wrong angle. “Privileged bigots like you should apologize every time they breathe.”

“Pronouns?” Hilda was at a loss. “Privilege? Bigots? What? Common isn’t my native language, so maybe--”

“You privileged dwarf colonists don’t understand what it’s like being constantly under attack!”

Hilda started to back toward the exit. “Okay, okay. I’ll shut up now.”

“Your silence is violence!” The thing hissed. “You need to do better.” It indicated her magic sword with its eyes.

“Silence is v-- what?” Hilda couldn’t take it any longer. Jingoism was never one of her vices, but there was only so much a dwarf could take. “We are refugees living in crowded holes on a planet we don’t belong to. All I have in this world, I can fit inside a hat. You’re a powerful, magical--”

“It’s time to put an end to your hate, you sentient fart.” The creature spat with what could have been a sneer or a laugh. It raised its hands and painted a series of glowing runes in the air.

Hilda squawked and jumped behind a box just as a lightning flashed through the room with a deafening roar. Several oil bottles exploded behind her, their flammable content spilling down wooden shelves. In a few seconds, the whole wall was on fire and the room was thick with acrid smoke.

“What are you doing, you crazy idiot?” Hilda shouted as she scrambled behind another box. “You’ll suffocate us both--”

A wave of intense cold blew through the room, putting out the flame and leaving a thin layer of frost over everything. Hilda’s face and hands felt like they were on fire though. She took a breath and it felt like she was drowning in acid. She was down ten hit points. She threw a glance at the creature. It observed her through half shut eyes as it prepared another spell. Some kind of a magical shield glittered in front of it, discouraging ranged attacks.

“I’ll give you my sword,” she cried from behind her brittle shelter. “Just leave me alone. Please!”

“You don’t realize the damage you’re causing.”

“I didn’t cause any damage!” Hilda cried, sounding more whiny than she intended. “I didn’t make a single attack! You’re the one destroying this chamber and starving people and monsters for no reason.”

“If you are not part of an oppressed group you contribute to oppression!” The creature said and fired a series of glittering missiles that bypassed Hilda’s cover and left dents in her breastplate. Nine points of damage.

“You’re insane!” Hilda cried. Without looking back, the bleeding dwarf scrambled for the exit. She glanced again at her attacker. Was that thing really an adventurer? It was pure chaos and its race was unclear. What else could it be though? It was way too strong to be a monster in this dungeon level and used standard arcane spells rather than the bullshit chaos magic Dungeon Masters liked to invent to look special. Maybe some kind of an outsider summoned by a careless spell caster? Sometimes they lingered when you had a critical success…

“How dare you assault me with ableist language!” An explosion rattled the passage behind Hilda, sending shards of stone that would have cleaned the flesh off her bones if she didn’t wear heavy armor. Somersaulting like the world’s best gymnast, Hilda amazingly landed on her feet, minus 7 hit points, and went on running until she reached the world’s least secret door.

Panting, she slammed the door behind her and pressed her ear to the smooth surface to hear if she was being followed. She wondered if she could take down the creature with the help of Medvak and Philly. It was very powerful, but it didn’t look like it had a whole lot of hit points or a very good Constitution score.

Silence. Blessed, wonderful silence.

Hilda deflated like a balloon and sunk all the way to the floor, breathing deeply and just waiting for her thoughts to stop bouncing and her feelings to stop screaming. Leaning against the door, she let out a shuddering breath.

“Hi,” a soft, cheerful voice spoke from above. The poor dwarf nearly soiled her chausses. Hilda whirled around and found herself facing what looked like a moth with big puppy eyes and a pink dress that flowed magically around a slender feminine body despite the absence of wind.

Her heart pounding so hard it nearly dented her breastplate, the dwarf raised her shield and cried more hysterically then commandingly. “What the fuck are you?”

The tiny creature recoiled from the bewildered dwarf, leaving a trail of pixie dust as it flew back. She then crossed her tiny hands under her tiny breasts and said, “I’m the familiar of the warlock you just pissed off.”